Baran peered back, grunted. ‘Ah. That explains much, then.’
Kyle waited, but the fellow offered no further explanation. Much later in the night, when they reached the wooded crest of the valley, Baran turned and peered back once more. He grunted again, sounding impressed, or mystified. ‘What did you do to rile them up so?’
Kyle struggled up the crest and squinted down and behind. Far off, torches bobbed and wove through the woods. ‘Killed a few,’ he said.
‘Hunh. Well, they’ve never shown much offence at murder before.’ He motioned to one side. ‘This way.’
As they jogged, Kyle remembered Yullveig’s words. ‘Is your sister here?’ he asked. ‘Erta?’
‘She has returned north. I believe she came to see more sense in my father’s words.’
‘But you do not.’
Baran’s large teeth flashed bright in the dark. ‘I prefer to fight to the end. I do not care if there is no grace in my leave-taking.’
‘Your father refuses to sink to their level. I respect him for that.’
‘Yet all your respect will not save his life.’
Kyle bit his lip. That barb struck hard and true. Also, it was this man’s people and way of life being swept from the face of the earth — best not to argue the finer points of it with him.
Baran was now leading him due east across a wide shallow valley. With dawn, he halted, pointed onward. ‘Lost Holding beyond.’
Kyle had to wait to catch his breath before he could answer. Keeping up with Baran had taken all he had. ‘My thanks. Won’t you reconsider? Come with me? We should all gather together, present a united front.’
The Heel flashed another grin behind his russet beard. ‘Form our own army, you mean? Speaking of sinking to their level.’ He shook his head. The wind blew his loose mane about. ‘No. That is not us. Not how we do things.’
Kyle nodded his understanding. ‘Then, this is farewell. Thank you, Baran, for saving my life.’
The Iceblood inclined his head in salute. ‘It was nothing.’
‘Good hunting.’
Baran hiked up his spear and grinned again. ‘Indeed. Let us hope they’ve followed far further than they ought.’ He jogged off.
Kyle watched him go until he disappeared into the woods, then turned to the east and Lost Holding hidden somewhere among the morning mists flowing down the shoulders of the Salt range.
* * *
She awaited them on the crest of a low hilclass="underline" a single dark figure in ragged untreated hides standing slim against the purpling north sky. Tall spring grasses and blue wild flowers blew about her knees. Her black hair whipped in the contrary winds.
Silverfox eased up from driving her lathered mount and the beast immediately halted. Foam dripped from its lips with each laboured breath. Steeling herself, she wrenched one numb leg to raise it up over the pommel of her saddle. The scraping of her raw thighs was an agony to her. She almost fell when her feet hit the ground, only managing to remain upright by grasping at the saddle’s girth-strap.
Old, she reflected grimly. I am already old. Yet I see myself as a young woman. Perhaps everyone comes to do so, and I have simply reached the self-revelation prematurely. An achievement for a girl not yet into her twenties. But not surprising, considering I carry millennia-old awarenesses within.
Rubbing her thighs to ease feeling back into them, she hobbled up the rise to join Kilava.
‘Summoner,’ the ancient Bonecaster greeted her.
Silverfox flinched — the woman always managed to infuse such disapproval into each use. ‘Kilava.’
Behind the woman, down a series of gently descending grassy hillsides, lay the glittering surface of a broad bay, and the body of a wider lake, or sea, beyond. Ships lay at anchor in the bay, and a camp of sorts was spread out along the shore. Smoke from fires rose into the air. Already, mounted scouts were cantering out to investigate their presence.
‘What is this?’ she asked Kilava.
‘The locals name it the Sea of Dread.’
Studying the waters, she could well imagine why they would do so; the rigid grip of the Jaghut magics of Omtose Phellack yet lay hard upon it, though it was rotting and slipping away even as she watched. Like ice beneath the heat of a summer sun, she reflected. In this case, the end of its time here upon the land.
‘It is all that remains of a great ice-field that once covered all this region,’ Kilava explained. ‘One of the last remaining glacial lakes.’
Silverfox motioned to the north, where mountains remained visible in the dusk — the unmistakable gleam of ice shone about their peaks. ‘Yet some remains.’
Kilava did not turn to look. ‘Yes,’ she allowed. ‘High in the mountains.’
She did not need to add … our destination.
Silverfox sensed the presence of Pran and Tolb as they came walking up. Her Imass followers arrived to stand ranged along the crest of the hill. They were motionless but for their tattered leathers and hanging fur wraps and cloaks flapping in the wind. She watched the closing mounted scouts suddenly wheel, wrenching away, to turn and gallop back to their camp. One even fell from his mount and ran now, arms waving, after his horse.
‘Where are they?’ she asked Kilava.
‘Close now. Very close.’
‘You have not spoken to them?’
The Bonecaster shook her head, brushed her hair from her face. ‘No. They know my choice. They would attack. I might not be able to extricate myself.’
That casual admission brought home the slenderness of their chances to Silverfox. We are too far outnumbered. She wondered, then, whether she was in truth driving them before her. Or were they merely pursuing their goal while she chased after? One and the same, perhaps. In any case, the restrictions imposed upon Tellann in this region inhibited them all.
We walk as in the old days. Tirelessly, yes. But just the same.
Chaos had broken out within the camp. Figures ran to the boats drawn up upon the gravel beaches, pushed them out.
‘And who are these?’
Again, Kilava did not turn away to glance. ‘Outlanders. Strangers. Not a scent of the Jaghut about them.’
Silverfox nodded her agreement. She, too, saw none of the other race in them. ‘We follow the coast north, then?’
Kilava lowered her chin in assent.
Silverfox drew breath to speak again, paused, then continued regardless. ‘And … did you warn many off?’
‘All those I could reach.’
‘Thank you.’
Irritation wrinkled the Bonecaster’s features. ‘As I said — I did not do so to soothe your conscience.’
Silverfox fought to subdue her own annoyance. ‘None the less … thank you.’
Something heavy fell to the ground behind and Silverfox turned; her mount had collapsed. Its side shuddered for a time, drawing in and out like a bellows. Then this too stilled.
Two Imass broke ranks to jog onward down the hillside. Silverfox turned an eye on Pran Chole. ‘What is this?’
The mummified mask that was the Bonecaster’s face remained immobile as ever. He extended a stick-thin arm, no more than bone sheathed in leather, towards the camp. ‘You have need of a horse.’
Silverfox thought about that, then tilted her head. Yes, she supposed she did.
CHAPTER XI
The prairie was one of tall grasses whipped by a chill wind. Tall menhirs leaned drunkenly like a giant’s set of toys tossed and forgotten across the landscape. Why Shimmer found herself here, she had no idea. The sky was clear, a hard frosty blue, with the moon low in the south. Strangely, the moon looked different: larger, and far less mottled. Another bright object also blazed in the day’s sky, something that trailed a long train of fire behind, just as the Visitor had. To the north — if indeed that direction was the north — lay a horizon to horizon wall of snow and deeper azure blue glowing ghostly in the moonlight.
She wondered if this was Hood’s demesne, his Paths, where the dead wander eternally, forever wringing their hands as they bemoan past choices, mistakes and lost opportunities.